


lyrics to a borrowed love song

by rintaro (clemiroh)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Falling In Love, Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer, M/M, Miya Atsumu-centric, Pining, Slow Burn, i think?kinda?im not sure, prev titled entropy i swear this is the last title change im fickle, when ur in love with ur AT and ur AT is in love with a You Rip-off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clemiroh/pseuds/rintaro
Summary: Atsumu, he’d call out to him, but somehow his mouth still formed the wrong shapes around the syllables of his name, as if the tenderness of his smiles wasn’t addressed to Atsumu at all.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Miya Atsumu, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 104
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...hi<3
> 
> honestly this is my first time writing haikyuu, and this is my first fic in, like, Years, so i'm still working on characterizations, and on my style in general because i am so out of practice, but like irl kept showing me atsuiwa content and I got the idea at 1a.m. and felt motivated enough to write so here we are! forgive me if it's lacking i promise i'll work on smoothing this out as i finish the wip (if i finish the wip lol)
> 
> i'll probably keep this short and the chapters few considering how quickly i run out of patience in writing!! i hope this fic comes out well in the end, and that it'll satisfy both the writer and the readers, if there are even any lol

It starts with Hinata Shoyo bursting back into the gym a little after their practice was officially over, eyes blazing and trainers squealing against the kempt floor as he darts towards someone beyond Atsumu.

“Kageyama!” Shoyo all but yells, hands already gripping the setter’s shoulders and shaking them lightly. Tobio looked rightfully startled, having been interrupted in the middle of his rest. “Oikawa-san’s Grand Knight is here, did you know that?”

Atsumu has no idea who ‘Oikawa-san’ nor his ‘Grand Knight’ are, but Tobio does, of course, if the way he straightens up immediately was anything to go by. 

“You mean Iwaizumi-san?” he gasps, eyes sparkling with an excitement akin to Shoyo’s, now. At the sound of that name, Atsumu sees Ushijima perk up from where he’s talking to Komori and Sakusa, who both seem to be surprised by the display. He figures it’s a Miyagi thing, knowing these Grand-people, so he makes a mental note to check them out later. “What’s he doing here?”

Atsumu stays quiet and out of the conversation as he drains his water bottle, but he keeps his eyes on the duo, like the rest of the team: they’re all curious about this Iwaizumi-san, what with the hearts practically glittering around Tobio’s head as Shoyo replies, “Apparently he’s going to be working with us! Isn’t that cool?”

“Iwaizumi-san’s going to be working with us,” Tobio repeats, looking dazed at the thought - until his mind seems to hit a roadblock, eyebrows furrowing all of a sudden. “He’s a pro player?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Hoshiumi interjects, eyes narrowed and a hand on his hip. “If the guy was going to be on the team, we would have seen him at tryouts, wouldn’t we?”

“That’s right, don’t be stupid, Bakageyama,” Shoyo croons, much to the setter’s chagrin.

Before there could be any retaliation, Ushijima cuts into the conversation to say, “I believe Iwaizumi was studying sports medicine when we met in California, so I would not be surprised if he was to be our trainer.”

Atsumu hums, feeling his face melt into an easy half-smirk. “He must be somethin’ if even Ushiwaka-kun’s excited to have him here, hmm?”

And then, for the second time that day, the doors burst open, accompanied by Bokuto Koutaro’s overwhelming energy and volume as he greets them loudly with “Hey guys! Look what the cat dragged in!”

Sakusa grimaces, scrunching his nose at who he _knows_ is coming. “You need to stop saying that whenever you bring Kuroo with you,” he sniffles, eyeing the nest-haired figure behind Bokuto disdainfully. “Actually, you need to stop bringing that conman with you in the first place.”

“I’m hurt, Omi-kun,” Kuroo says, hand poised above his heart dramatically. He doesn’t move from where he’s standing, right against the opening of the door. “And here I thought we had something going for us.”

Yaku snickers at Sakusa’s expression. “He has a point, you know,” he calls out to his former captain. “You’re here almost every other day. Aren’t you supposed to be busy, Pain-in-the-Ass Kuroo?”

Kuroo grins at that, sleazy and coy. “Well,” he says, making a big show of moving away from the door and gesturing grandly, “Today I’m actually here to do my work, Yakkun. I’ve got someone here with me to meet you kids.”

And then Iwaizumi Hajime steps into the room.

  
  


Miya Atsumu likes to think he’s got an impeccable taste in men.

Osamu thinks it’s a shame; “if only your personality reflected your taste in men,” he’d told him once _._ Atsumu thinks he should fuck off, and would have told him so, except Osamu has extensive amounts of incriminating media of Atsumu mucking about his feelings via Suna Rintaro.

Anyway, he’s got great taste. Kita-san from high school, Shouyo when they met at Nationals that one year, and Omi-kun, of course, who he still finds absolute joy in harassing up ‘til now. He knows how to pick them.

So when Iwaizumi Hajime is introduced to Japan’s National Team as their official athletic trainer and Atsumu feels himself appreciating the view a little longer than deemed socially acceptable (though it didn’t really matter, considering the fact that literally everyone else in the room had stopped to stare at the AT), he should’ve figured what was going to happen.

  
  


“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, and I’ll be working with you as your athletic trainer starting tomorrow,” he announces, eyes roaming around the group of tired athletes after a polite bow. Atsumu feels a spark of giddiness alight in his stomach despite the fact that they barely linger on him any longer than a few seconds. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

There’s a momentary silence among the team, all of them quite awestruck. There was something about the way Iwaizumi stood and carried himself that made him all the more attractive - a quiet, calm confidence that seemed to lull them all in, his aura accentuating the already handsome smile his lips are stretched into, as well as the sturdy build of his physique.

(Speaking of which - those arms. Atsumu’s never been so attracted to arms before in his whole life. He figures there’s a first time for everything, and _damn_ is he happy about it.)

Ushijima, ever the stoic one, is the first to respond, stepping forward with a hand out. “Iwaizumi. It’s nice to see you again.”

Iwaizumi’s grin broadens as he takes the handshake being offered. “Ushiwaka, it’s been a while. You too, Kageyama and Hinata,” he says, nodding towards the duo. “You’ve grown a lot.”

If they were in a TV show, there would be little sparks flying around Tobio right now. “Iwaizumi-san!” he practically yells, jerking into a rigid bow with Shouyo, “It’s great to see you again!”

Iwaizumi chuckles, reaching a hand out to ruffle Tobio’s hair. Atsumu can see his face grow redder from where he’s stood. “I know I’m not your favorite senpai, but it’s nice to know you’re still excited to see me again.”

“Yes, sir! I mean - no! I _am_!”

Iwaizumi’s brows furrow in confusion. “What is it, really?”

Before the trainer could do anything else to encourage their dearest Tobio into spontaneously combusting, Atsumu chooses that moment to step forward, hands on hips and smirk heavy on his lips as he nudges Ushijima teasingly. “What’s this, Ushiwaka-kun?” he says, voice lilting as he goes. “You and Tobio-kun’ve been holdin’ out on us when you know someone like Iwaizumi-san here?”

The trainer’s eyes dart to him then, sharp and scrutinizing, but not unwelcoming. Ushijima turns to him, mouth pulling away from the barest hints of a smile into a questioning frown. “I do not understand why we would have been obligated to tell you about Iwaizumi,” he rumbles. “Nevertheless, I apologize.”

Atsumu feels his face twitch. “Same old, ain’tcha, Ushiwaka-kun?” he sneers up at the captain.

“Iwaizumi-san was my senpai in middle school,” Tobio informs, having recovered from his almost-cardiac arrest. “He went to Aoba Johsai for high school, and we played against him and Oikawa-san during our first year. I looked up to them a lot,” he adds shyly. 

Iwaizumi snorts. “You keep up with Oikawa’s games, Kageyama?” When Tobio looks away sheepishly, Iwaizumi laughs. Atsumu wants to tell Tobio to keep doing what he’s doing, whatever it is, because Iwaizumi has a nice laugh. “He’d never admit to it, but he definitely watches yours.” His face flares even more.

Finally, _finally_ , Iwaizumi turns his attention to him, curiosity tinging his gaze. “And you are…?”

Atsumu’s eyes light up. He opens his mouth to reply -

“He’s our national pain in the ass,” Sakusa’s voice comes from behind, interrupting him before he could even begin to make a move. “Sometimes he sets for us on the court, but for the most part, Miya gets paid to keep us all in an eternal state of annoyance.”

“ _Omi-omi!_ ” Atsumu all but wails. How could he do this - nerfing Atsumu in front of such a gorgeous man - he thought they were close! “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Sakusa recoils, as if physically pained by the words. “I don’t know who lied to you, but they were wrong.” And then, to Iwaizumi: “You can ignore Miya, Iwaizumi-san. The rest of the team are perfectly fine save for him. I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s good to meet you.”

And then, by some God-ordained miracle, Atsumu feels a steady hand clap him on the shoulder. Following the arm up, he’s quite flustered to see Iwaizumi right next to him, eyes crinkling and amused. He wonders if this was how Tobio felt earlier. He also wonders if Iwaizumi could feet how warm his skin was burning under his touch.

“Well,” Iwaizumi says, smiling right at him - and he swears he feels his soul slip away. “I think it’s going to be an interesting time with you monsters, huh.”

  
  


It doesn’t take long for Atsumu to be well and properly interested.

It was one thing for Iwaizumi to be - for the lack of a more refined word - hot as all hell. That much was a given, and even if Atsumu didn’t have his particular teammates around it would have been enough to make him want to hang around the man _at least_ a little bit.

But the thing is, Tobio, Ushijima _and_ Shoyo had all expressed such admiration for Iwaizumi, and that’s far from being a small feat. To have not just one but _three_ of the country’s monster generation players look at you with such awe and respect - two of which comprise the infamous freak duo, and the third being the nation’s southpaw cannon - Atsumu’s convinced Iwaizumi must have been some kind of monster himself in high school, and he asks himself: _why have I never seen him at Nationals, if that was the case?_

So when he pulls his phone out and opens his browser, he quickly types in ‘Iwaizumi Hajime’ and expects - honestly, he isn’t sure. He just expects there to be _something_ , maybe an interview or a full article about him.

What pulls up, however, barely feels like _anything_. He doubts there’s even a full list for the second page of results, and what he does find are Miyagi-based websites and newspapers with only one or two mentions of his name. What’s more is that the articles are almost repetitive in content, with titles worded varyingly yet still delivering the same message.

_Powerhouse Kitagawa Daiichi lose Miyagi Prefectural Qualifiers to Shiratorizawa Academy Junior High, 2-1._

_Aoba Johsai suffers an early defeat by Shiratorizawa, 2-1 in Miyagi Quarterfinals._

_Shiratorizawa claims Qualifier Finals against Seijoh, 3-1; exclusive interviews with stars Ushijima Wakatoshi and Oikawa Tooru._

And, in the midst of all the Shiratorizawa VS Aoba Johsai reports: _Oikawa Tooru’s last shot at Nationals lost in Aoba Johsai’s unexpected defeat to Karasuno High School in Spring Interhigh Semifinals, 2-1._

Atsumu’s eyes narrow at his screen, blinking rapidly as if it would help explain his confusion. If he’s reading these right, then that only means Iwaizumi Hajime had played for Aoba Johsai, and had suffered continuous losses to Ushijima’s Shiratorizawa, and one last at the hands of Karasuno - against the freak duo in their first year, leading up to their first taste of playing at Nationals and against Inarizaki, back when he was a second year.

 _So what’s the big deal?_ Atsumu muses internally. _If he’s just someone from a powerhouse team that wasn’t good enough to win even_ once _, why are those three so attached?_

He shifts his attention back to the article he’s got opened; more than anyone else, the name Oikawa Tooru is noticeably the most recurring individual element in the reports, sometimes even more so than Ushijima Wakatoshi’s - and he’s been _actually_ renowned since high school. So if he can’t find anything on Iwaizumi himself…

 _A local star player_ , Atsumu hums to himself. His eyes catch onto the words ‘monster serves’, and he almost scoffs out loud. _A watered down version of me, then_.

_Oikawa Tooru. Aoba Johsai Private High School Graduate; former Aoba Johsai Men’s VBC Captain and Setter. Currently CA San Juan’s starting Setter._

And then the name clicks - the Argentinian team’s setter. _That_ Oikawa Tooru? He clicks his tongue. _Yer kiddin’ me_ , he thinks. Argentina’s setter had originated from Japan - graduated from a school that never made it to nationals. 

Why had he moved?

Briefly, he wonders what Iwaizumi’s relationship with his high school setter had been - judging by how close their names had been intertwined throughout the conversation, they weren’t synchronized exclusively on court. 

Before he could follow that particular train of thought, Aran's at the door to call him for dinner. 

_Ah,_ he says to himself, _maybe another time._  
  


Considering the disappointment he’d felt from the information he’d read, it was quite pathetic how he found himself distracted by the AT during practice.

It wasn’t like Iwaizumi was ever doing anything obnoxiously loud or eye-catching - he wasn’t even always present during training, only dropping by once or twice to check on them, or give them stern reminders to take a break when they’re overdoing it (it was funny, really, how at least a dozen national, volleyball-obsessed athletes could fold so easily under Iwaizumi’s stare, except that he was one of those athletes).

Sometimes, Iwaizumi would come in to observe for half an hour, standing with an almost impassive expression save for the concentration in his eyes. If he’s lucky, Atsumu’d catch him smiling strangely sometimes, a soft sight he’d describe as wistful as he watches on.

Sometimes he’d stay and talk to one of the Miyagi-born players about one thing or another - Atsumu quickly learns to stay away from those conversations, because the few times he’d been close enough to hear, it had either been about their times playing against each other, Oikawa Tooru, or a mix of both, and he doesn’t know why, but for some reason he’s grown some sort of aversion to the topic of the Argentine setter.

All in all, he hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to make a move on the trainer, so it wasn’t like there were a lot of things he knew about him to make him fall in love or anything. But then, maybe it was the exact fact that he’s still a mystery to Atsumu that was reeling him in so much - the way he’s so deeply intrigued by Iwaizumi, and the growing urge to pick him apart until he reaches his very heart.

That, and the fact that Iwaizumi is awfully, unbearably attractive doing even the bare minimum, and the way the muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them in front of his chest when he’s around is dangerously distracting. 

It hadn’t been quite enough _yet_ to break Atsumu’s focus during his serves, but it just so happens that he’s standing right in his line of sight as they’re switching courts and it catches his eyes long enough for him to run straight into the pole and get his ass knocked back hard enough that his head hits the floor with an audible _thud_ , accompanied by Shoyo screeching “ _Atsumu-san!_ ”

“Aw, fuck,” he groans out loud, hand reaching up to his forehead. “Aw, that actually hurt. Fuck, I’m _dying._ ”

“Tsumu!” Bokuto’s voice thunders, making him wince as he squints up at his teammates’ faces popping into view. “What was that!”

“The hell were you doing, Miya?” comes Sakusa’s unconcerned-but-not-quite tone. It’s enough to make him snicker.

“Worried, Omi-omi?” he teases, resulting in a sneer. If he dies, he’s taking someone down with him.

“Move over,” a different voice orders gruffly, and soon he’s looking up at Iwaizumi’s upside-down face and he thinks, _this wouldn’t be a bad way to go_ . He watches as Iwaizumi’s brows furrow in the slow motion of his disorientation, eyes straying to the taut line of his mouth. _Shit, that’s hot._ “Miya, you listening to me?”

He blinks owlishly up at the trainer. When he nods, Iwaizumi asks, “You remember where you are?”

“Training, it’s Wednesday today, I was bein’ stupid and ran into a pole,” Atsumu recites distractedly, still honing onto the features hovering, like, _inches_ above him. How’s his skin so clear? _Will he hit me if I touch his cheek._ He meets Iwaizumi’s eye and gives him a lazy grin. “M’fine, Iwaizumi-san, but if ya wanna kiss it better ya won’t hear me complain.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, and he follows the movement, noting the shade of green they are. “Sit the rest of practice out,” is what he responds to Atsumu, straightening up and holding a hand out to help him up. “I’ll get you an ice pack. We’re not risking you getting an actual serious injury, so sit it out.”

Atsumu huffs, but he takes the offered hand (and internally revels at the grip - Iwaizumi’s hand is warm and steady around his, calloused in a way he can appreciate feeling against his skin) and lets himself be pulled up. Iwaizumi lets go of his hand, but it’s barely a second later when he feels the same warmth guiding him towards the bench, settled between his shoulder blades, and he has to fight a shudder lest the other man feel it. 

Iwaizumi leaves to get the ice once he’s sat down, and he watches his back until he’s gone, at which point he turns to look at the rest of the team still in play. Upon seeing Yaku staring at him with a knowing half-smirk on his face, he unapologetically sticks his tongue out at the peach-haired libero, who mouths _boohoo_ in response.

Vaguely, he wonders if he should make a habit of hitting his head during practice if it meant getting Iwaizumi’s attention. He’s halfway through contemplating the idea when he feels the air near his cheek turn chilly.

“Hold this to your head,” Iwaizumi tells him, though he’s already pressing the pack against Atsumu’s forehead himself. “I hope I won’t have to tell you twice to stay put, Miya,” he says with warning in his voice, looking at him sternly.

Atsumu pouts at the instructions, reaching up to take the cold pack from the AT. “Unfortunately,” he laments, eyeing the court behind Iwaizumi longingly before he focuses back onto the trainer. “Least call me by my name, won’t ya? S’weird when people call me Miya when I grew up with a twin and all.”

Iwaizumi looks at him, surprised. “Alright,” he concedes after a moment. “You’re fine with Sakusa calling you that, though.”

“Omi-kun likes to play hard to get,” he complains, a little loudly, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow amusedly at him. Atsumu counts a double victory when the trainer moves to sit beside him on the bench. “I like to think it’s a sign of endearment.”

“A concussion won’t be enough to keep me from strangling you, Miya,” comes the breathless retort from Sakusa, having just finished a rally. Though there’s plenty of polite distance between them, Atsumu can feel the rumble of Iwaizumi’s body as he chuckles lowly, and it sends his stomach into a bit of a flutter when he watches the slight upturn of his mouth, and the smile lines around his eyes. _Three_ victories - he’ll take it, even if he has to share the credits with Sakusa.

Iwaizumi turns to him then, and promptly catches him staring. “Something on your mind?” he asks Atsumu, cocking his head along to the question.

“You used to play,” Atsumu blurts out, and it sounds more like an accusation than a question with his tone of voice. Iwaizumi blinks, caught off guard, and Atsumu clears his throat. “I mean… I got curious about what Tobio-kun and the others said about ya, so I was wonderin’... why don’t ya play anymore?”

“What makes you think I’m good enough to have kept playing?” Iwaizumi asks, and it makes Atsumu scoff.

“If you didn’t notice, Japan’s genius setter and strongest cannon look at you with, I dunno, hearts in their eyes,” he drawls, gesturing vaguely towards the court. “So you’ve gotta be _somethin_ ’, ya know?”

Iwaizumi studies him for a moment - for what, Atsumu has no idea. He’s keeping quiet, letting Iwaizumi decide how he’d reply, when the AT shakes his head with a sigh. “I don’t know if I was _anything_ ,” is what he says, “but I know I did well back then because I had someone bringing out the best in me. On the court and off of it.”

Atsumu’s lips pull down into a firm line. “Oikawa Tooru is who I’m guessin’ this someone is?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes once again fill with surprise, but this time there’s something else there - something Atsumu can’t quite, doesn’t want to decipher. “Yeah. _He’s_ the one who’s something, you know.”

Atsumu huffs, mind jumping from _but he didn’t even get you to Nationals_ to _what the hell’s so special about Oikawa_ to flat out profanity - he hasn’t gotten answers at all. “You Miyagi kids are so damn weird,” he says instead. “Yer all just goin’ around preachin’ Oikawa Tooru this and that. What about me and Tobio-kun?”

“What about you and Kageyama?”

“Don'tcha think we could set to ya as well as he did?” he wonders out loud. “I'm sure you're sentimental about yer high school team, but that's in the past, isn't it? Don'tcha miss being on the court _now_?” 

Iwaizumi hums thoughtfully. “Are you saying you want to set for me, Atsumu?” 

Atsumuʼs eyes flash, something hungry growing in the pits of his belly. “Would ya let me if I say I do?”

Iwaizumi smiles then, and itʼs all sorts of soft and sad and beautiful. “I donʼt think I can anymore,” he admits. Atsumu isnʼt quite sure how to interpret that, much less how to respond, and the silence drags on until Iwaizumi stands up, patting his hands off on his trousers. 

“You better be resting ʼtil tomorrow. Iʼll know otherwise,” Iwaizumi reminds him, tone lighter and more playful than it had been barely minutes earlier. 

“Iʼll see you around, Atsumu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me for how atsumus kansai comes out i literally feel awkward writing the yers so,,,idk if i wanna keep trying to write it in or if ill just forego the dialect completely
> 
> please keep in mind i'm still working on both the fic and my understanding of the characters as i've only gotten into hq!! a few months ago T^T nevertheless, feel free to point out any discrepancies and mistakes! comments are always welcome, and i don't mind a bit of criticism as long as it isn't below the belt, yknow?
> 
> \+ PREV TITLE: don't want no other shade of blue ; i'm honestly hopping from one album to another in hopes of finding something that could inspire me to get a proper title but i'm bad at that so ... sorry if it may get confusing FFFF


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: i have absolutely no clue about checkups and medical assessments despite having had a bio teacher who taught us the basics last year, and It Shows
> 
> also, someone tell me their thoughts on the pacing, because honestly I'm kinda lost. I haven't written in so long and it sucks bc I can't even tell for myself how it's going T^T

When Miya Atsumu fell in love with Kita Shinsuke, it had started out as nothing more as growing desperation for the senior’s approval.

Atsumu wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone, even if they held him at gunpoint and demanded for it, but the truth is that he hated Kita in his first year in Inarizaki.

Here was Miya Atsumu, a first year with a name known far and wide as the setter extraordinaire, one half the fearsome Miya twins package, a boy with a serve that rivalled those of the top aces in Japan with at least a year on him, announcing himself to the Inarizaki VBC on their first day of tryouts. 

And where Osamu had scowled at his back, where the other first years had looked at him with half-terrified, half-awed gazes, and the captain and the rest of the team had laughed good-naturedly, applauded his confidence, and welcomed him to the team, second year Kita Shinsuke had only watched him with indifference in his honey-copper eyes, face blank as he moved onto the rest of the fresh recruits.

It had bothered him at first, the lack of reaction. And then it had turned into anger when he found out that Kita Shinsuke wasn’t even on the second string, nor did he even own a team jersey. No, he was _nothing_ , and yet he regarded Atsumu as if it had been the other way around.

He was angry. He was fuming - and he couldn’t do anything about it, because any time he got a clear view of those fox eyes, something in him buckled. Distinctly, he had a feeling that he would rather those eyes _stay_ in their cool indifference than risk seeing something darker in them.

So Atsumu tries to ignore him. It wasn’t hard. He wasn’t even a substitute, so he barely practiced with Atsumu during rotations. He had nothing to prove, he told himself. He was already a Nationals-level player by then; he didn’t need to prove himself to some random who cleaned up after the actual team. 

(And yet he did. He’d watched Kita watch him with silent disapproval when he’d get praise for practicing double the standard amount, had seen the way Kita’s face remain static even after a particularly difficult set. It had bothered him over and over and over, loathe as he was to admit.)

Come second year, and he had watched as the captain’s jersey was handed to Kita, and felt his heart drop in his stomach. 

When he first played a practice game with Kita on the court, it was different, and at the same time it was nothing new. He didn’t even stand out - he was just _there_ , playing as what was needed of him. And still, there was something strange, a different charge to the air as they chased after the ball. He’d watched Osamu’s brows furrow, seen Suna’s usually bored gaze blink in confusion several times. He knew it wasn’t just him.

It takes a while to realize - Kita grounded the team. His presence on the court alone brought an unshakeable calm, and it had affected all of their plays; he felt steadier on his feet, made him think things through more logically than he usually would have. 

Amongst the hectic chaos that accompanied the Inarizaki team, there was Kita Shinsuke - the eye of the storm.

He remained the same coolly detached senior, eyes critical of their mistakes and giving nothing but approving nods at well-executed plays, and Atsumu had realized Kita had never given out compliments easily because of the fact that he believes more in the diligence and consistency of his players rather than the fact that they’re capable of superstar moves.

He was almost boring, but not quite, because something about him still bothered Atsumu into paying attention, and Miya Atsumu was the last person who would be interested in someone _boring_.

And in that very same year, Kita Shinsuke had smiled at him from where he had taken Aran’s position on the court, a bare lift in the corners of his mouth, after a series of his service aces won them their tickets to Nationals, and winning his approval was almost worth more than winning in the prefectural finals for Interhigh.

When Kita sends him on his way on the day he comes to club sick, he’s almost convinced of going back into his first year state of being perpetually angry at the older boy. Until he sees the care package. He’s halfway through the meal Kita left for him when he realizes the amount of times he seeks Kita’s eyes was less than healthy, and that contemplating getting sick on a regular basis to get Kita to take care of him wasn’t as ideal as it seemed, because it meant missing out on volleyball _and_ actual attention from Kita, because he’d actually begun to talk outside of strategies to jab jokes with the rest of them. When they lost to Karasuno in their first match, and effectively botched the third years’ last tournament, Kita had merely smiled and told them to make him proud, and he will be damned if he doesn’t follow up on that order.

Kita was the eye of the storm - extremely terrifying and perfectly safe. Where everything around him was hell on wheels, he remained calm, composed, constant, and he had been the very same way when Atsumu confessed on the day of graduation.

Kita didn’t look like he had cried that day, but he wore his minimal smile more freely around the other third years he knew. It had disappeared when Atsumu had pulled him aside, eyes unmoving yet patient as he watched Atsumu stutter his feelings out the same way he’d mocked the others in his first year during club introductions. Where others would have died at a confession from Miya Atsumu, Kita only waited for him to finish and then rejected him with a simple “Thank you, Atsumu, but I don’t think yer in love with me.”

Atsumu’s face had burned, furious and flustered as Kita looked up at him, lips hinting a small, somewhat sad smile. “I’m sorry, that was disrespectful of yer feelings,” Kita had continued after a slight pause. “But I don’t think yer still goin’ to feel the same given some time, and it’s not like I can accept them now and still keep ya happy, Atsumu. And it’s not goin’ to change the fact that yer important to me, as your captain and friend. Just take some time to yerself and ya should see what I mean.”

He’d gone home, face blotchy and eyes bloodshot from the effort it took to stop his tears. A year later, Kita visits on his graduation, congratulates him on getting scouted, and smiles at him with eyes that say _I told you so._

  
  


The moment Iwaizumi had finished tending to him post-running into the pole and knocking himself out, Atsumu had wanted nothing more than for the AT to come back and place a soothing, steady hand on his back and watch over him as he ices the bump on his forehead, but he’s already a substitute as it is, and he really doesn’t want to spend even less time on the court, even if it meant he had Iwaizumi hovering over him.

The consolation for this, however, is the fact that Iwaizumi has begun to linger around during training longer, if only to be on site if there was ever a repeat of what had been the result of Atsumu being distracted. The pros of this situation was that Iwaizumi was always around for him to talk to at most, and ogle at the very least. The cons? Iwaizumi was always around.

It’s not like Iwaizumi was anywhere near as nerve wracking to play around like Kita was in high school. While the trainer didn’t seem to be fazed by the sheer amount of skills constantly on display during practice, it wasn’t like he was completely indifferent to them. He always grinned at the players when they made eye contact with him, gave discreet thumbs ups in the middle of breaks. He’d clapped Sakusa on the back once, after a particularly rough day, and didn’t get his arm bitten off. Hell, Sakusa’s cheeks had pinked at the AT’s gesture.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, _blushing_. Atsumu wasn’t quite sure who to be jealous of.

Still, Atsumu was sure of one thing: when it came to catching Iwaizumi’s eyes during practice, he’s nowhere near losing.

It felt like the AT was simply watching out for him at first, what with him being the first injury Iwaizumi had treated for the team, no matter how minor - Atsumu figured it was a matter of having come off as a clumsy fool to the AT, and he was only looking out for him.

But spending two years seeking Kita’s approval in high school had made him more than experienced at watching out for people’s reactions to his play, no matter how miniscule - and it didn’t seem like Iwaizumi was at all hiding the way his eyes would follow Atsumu’s form during his jump serves, and he wasn’t blind to the way Iwaizumi’s mouth seemed to curl at his tendency to execute complicated tosses to his team.

If anything, it felt like Iwaizumi watched Atsumu the most, and it planted a budding confidence in him, along with the juxtaposed feelings of satisfaction and hunger for _more more more_ whenever he’d turn around and see Iwaizumi’s eyes already set on him.

“Hey, Atsumu,” Iwaizumi greets as he usually does when Atsumu pads over to him after drills. He’s looking at him with a half-smile, only one side of his mouth going up, and his eyes are making the setter feel like he’s digging into his soul. “Nice serve earlier.”

He doesn’t need to point out _which_ \- while Atsumu had done a number of services, there had been one excellent ball that had gone up in a beautiful toss and landed a perfect, curved trajectory on the other court, echoing off the floor like thunder as Komori had failed to even react. Everyone had whooped appreciatively, but Atsumu had only preened at the sound of Iwaizumi’s whistle from the sidelines.

The praise was nothing but a mouthful of three words, and yet it had fueled Atsumu’s hunger in a full meal.

As professional athletes training for the Olympics, it’s a given that they’re given regular schedules for physicals. Atsumu used to hate it, because it wasn’t like his lungs were going to collapse on him and he hasn’t had any major, incapacitating injuries ever since he sprained an ankle in sixth grade and didn’t get to play for _weeks_ even when he was feeling better lest Osamu tell on him.

Now that Iwaizumi was going to be the one doing the evaluations, however - now _that_ is a different story altogether, and he finds himself _actually_ looking forward to the checkup, even though he knows it’s not even going to be more than Iwaizumi going over his medical records (practically none) and performing a couple of assessments.

This also means Atsumu is stuck squirming in his seat as he waits for his turn while simultaneously being subject to Yaku and Komori snickering at his obviously sulky face from across him.

He almost doesn’t have enough heart to glare at the duo. _Almost._ “Whaddaya think yer laughin’ at,” he grumbles as he attempts to straighten up from where he’s hunched over. He doesn’t get anything in reply except for Yaku snorting at him and Komori smiling in a way people probably think is cute and sweet and befitting how Komori’s face is all soft cheeks and wide, doe eyes. Atsumu knows better, because this is Komori Motoya, who is Sakusa Kiyoomi’s cousin, and he firmly believes that nobody related to _dear old Omi-kun_ could ever be perfectly innocent. “Geez, you two are proof of why they say short people are assholes.”

Yaku’s eyes flash murderously. “If that was true, you shouldn’t be as tall as you are,” he sneers, and suddenly even the bottle of water he’s holding is a threat to Atsumu’s life.

Nevertheless, he plows on, the fearless shoulder he is. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on ya, Yakkun,” he razzes. “S’not my fault I can be both at the same time while yer stuck with the body of a preschoo - ”

Several things happen at once: Yaku lunges from his seat with his hands reaching towards Atsumu, with Komori behind him half-laughing and half-making an absolute ass of an attempt to pull Yaku away from the setter; Atsumu watches his life flash before his very eyes, and thinks, _I’m going to die single_ ; and he hears Sakusa’s voice ring out as he demands: “Motoya what do you think you’re doing?”

Yaku shoots back to his seat, stock still. “Hi, Iwaizumi, Sakusa,” he greets coolly, as if he wasn’t just about to attack Atsumu.

“They were tryin’ to murder me is what they were doin’!” Atsumu turns to Sakusa and Iwaizumi, both standing at the doorway of the AT’s office.

Sakusa’s dead-eyed glare darts to him. “I know,” he says. “I was asking Motoya _why_ he was stopping Yaku-san from finishing the job.”

Komori giggles over Atsumu’s outraged gasp. “This is bullying, ya hear me? Iwaizumi-san, they’re ganging up on me!”

Iwaizumi flashes a broad grin. “Oh, I’m sure you deserve it,” he says, to Yaku’s delight. Sakusa’s eyes glint awfully bright for someone who treats everything like dead fish. “But I’m afraid I have to keep Atsumu whole and healthy to keep my job, so save the murder for after Olympics. For now - ” Iwaizumi’s eyes slide to him, twinkling. “I’ve been told you’ve been dying to get your physicals.”

Here’s the thing.

Getting benched with Iwaizumi tending to him with an ice pack was great. Sent a shit ton of butterflies flying around his stomach. He figured that having Iwaizumi check on his vitals would be about the same thing.

The thought was far different from the actual experience, because he’s been sitting in the AT’s office for what could be no more than ten minutes and he feels like he’s about to keel over and die, because being alone in a room with Iwaizumi’s hands moving over his limbs was too much to handle, way more than he thought it would be, each prod of his hands against Atsumu’s joints almost sending the setter into overdrive. 

Atsumu’s pretty sure his heart stopped for the whole period when Iwaizumi had angled his head to the left with a hand on his chin as he examined his jugular, the pads of his finger rough against where they had been touching the bottom of his cheek, though the grip was gentle all the same. He hopes his heart rate hadn’t been too fast to have gotten noted as abnormal, because while he may not be one of the shyer members on the team, he wasn’t sure if he could salvage his dignity in a scenario where he had to explain to a licensed health professional that _no, sir, I don’t have any heart problems, s’just that I was busy tryin’ not to explode during physicals ‘cause our AT’s face was too close for me to not go into gay overload._

He wonders if he should tell Iwaizumi that he might as well as get his measurements for a coffin. _Y’know, just ta be sure._

Atsumu snaps out of his reverie at the sudden puff of warm air on his neck, followed by Iwaizumi’s breathy chortle. “You’re allowed to breathe, you know?” he quip as he straightens up and away from close proximity to the setter.

Atsumu was perfectly aware of that. It was just that he was also _too_ aware of how nice Iwaizumi’s hands felt against him - enough to the point that his brain to mouth filter had failed to kick in before he opened his mouth to reply. “Not my fault ya took my breath away, Iwaizumi-san,” is how his tongue betrays his already-sparse dignity.

Iwaizumi looks up from his records with a raised brow. “How forward of you, flirting with the team’s trainer.”

Atsumu feels like there are embers being fanned underneath his cheeks. “Well,” he says, squaring his shoulders and deciding he may as well as get over it. “Is it workin’ or do I hafta find a different approach?”

Iwaizumi laughs, and it makes him feel pleased as much as it worries him that all he’s doing is embarrass himself in front of someone they’re going to be stuck with for quite some time. He can’t help it - being around Iwaizumi made him unreasonably nervous. He was overly conscious around the AT, and everything he thought was overly _high school girl with a varsity crush-esque_ . Which was stupid, because, if anything, _he’s_ the varsity in this situation, and he knows he has at least a fifty percent chance with the man.

To his dismay, the next few minutes are spent by Iwaizumi completing his evaluation and revising a small detail of his diet - something he’d done with the rest of the team who came before - and Atsumu, in his red-cheeked daze, can barely follow.

It’s only when Atsumu’s already halfway out the door when Iwaizumi says, “And, Atsumu?” When he turns around, Iwaizumi’s wearing the cheekiest smile he’s seen on him so far. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to fluster me.”

Atsumu feels his heart _burn_. That was a challenge, if anything, and Atsumu was nothing if not the strongest challenger.

If he got any more obnoxious around Iwaizumi after the physicals, Atsumu had figured it was nobody’s business but his own. Except it wasn’t, because Sakusa actually calls him out on it.

“If you’re going to attempt to flirt with Iwaizumi-san,” he tells him one particular morning over their stretches, his wrists folded against the floor at a grotesque angle, “at least do it without being obnoxious.”

“Omi-kun, everything I do is obnoxious to you,” he points out as he folds over to reach the tip of his toes.

“Exactly. So don’t,” Sakusa sniffles. “Also, it’s painful to get embarrassed on your behalf, especially since you have no ounce of dignity.”

" _Omi-kun!_ ”

He didn’t even say anything wildly inappropriate, though it was well within his ability to do so without shame - all he’d done is greet the man good morning! And if Sakusa was going to tape his mouth shut for that, he may as well as do the same with the rest of the team who’d greeted each other when they came in, too.

“He’s talkin’ to Ushiwaka right now,” Atsumu hisses, “what makes ya think I have it in me to do anything remotely flirty with Ushiwaka around?”

“Didn’t stop you before,” Sakusa deadpans. He blinks sluggishly at the trainer from across the room. “You become twice as much of a showoff with Iwaizumi-san around. Makes me want to bar him from training, except he’s actually tolerable.” He trains his gaze on Atsumu. “You’re interested.”

“I’ve been interested for the past two weeks, Omi-omi, where have ya even been?” Atsumu retorts.

Sakusa doesn’t speak immediately, only narrows his eyes at him, and Atsumu’s reminded of an unpleasant memory with the same set of eyes searing through him. He almost shivers, but he holds eye contact until the spiker finally turns away to head towards the court.

“Don’t be stupid,” he finally says as he unfolds his hands, catlike, as he pushes himself off the floor, and though Atsumu doesn’t feel anything now, he knows that these words will be eating away at him at some point. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

By halfway through the week, Atsumu has forgotten Sakusa’s cold warnings, entirely focused on the high amount of low balls he’d been getting all throughout this particular day, forcing him into making especially difficult sets.

Atsumu knows he’s frivolous, a showoff like Sakusa had called him. He knows that while he’s learned to tone himself down from what he was in high school, he’s still an asshole who easily pushes other people’s buttons. He knows people find his riskier sets more than a little ridiculous, but he’s never really cared about it - _ten fingers over two arms, all the more to support your spikers with_ is what he’d told Suna in high school, and he stands by it to this day. He’s not a genius like Tobio, but god forbid he let that stop him from doing his own best as a setter.

And while he knows all this, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments where he lets himself slip back into his much, _much_ harsher persona, one that’s way more easily upset when Yaku points out how Nekoma’s setter back then had been perfectly efficient even without all the back-bending sets.

“Why don’t we have dear old Kozume play if he’s so good,” he’d sneered, irritation snapping throughout his whole body from where it’s been coiled tightly the whole day from the physical and mental exhaustion he had accumulated through the weeks - he’s blessed, but not as much as, say, Shoyo, and he’s never pretended to ever have had a disposition anywhere as sunshine-y either. So when Yaku’s eyes widen guiltily, shocked at the needless amount of venom suddenly dripping off of his words, he takes the easy way out and cuts Yaku’s apology off with, “Save it, it’s fine. Let’s get on with it.”

The rest of practice is tense, and Atsumu’s too busy reeling in the buildup of negativity in him to notice the pair of eyes fixed on him, chanting repeatedly in his head about how _yer a goddamn professional, this ain’t high school where ya can get into scuffles with ‘Samu and get away with only a sermon from Kita-san. Get it together._

He’s entirely focused on his internal conflict up until his cooldown stretches that he completely misses the presence dropping next to him until there’s a cool sensation pressing against his nape, at which he whips his neck up.

Iwaizumi gingerly presses the water bottle against his heated skin, green eyes peering at him with a watchfulness that gives Atsumu the impression he’s dealt with a self-destructing teammate before. “You look like you’re going through some stuff.”

Atsumu huffs out a derisive laugh. “That’s an understatement,” he mutters, but he leans back against the coolness on the back of his head. “Ya got a degree in psychology hidden somewhere, too, Iwaizumi-san?”

Iwaizumi sighs in a long-suffering way. “No, but I’ve seen people crash and burn over their frustrations in a game before. You wanna talk about it?” And, when Atsumu’s eyes sweep over their surroundings, still filled with stragglers who haven’t yet found the energy to make the trudge to the locker rooms, Iwaizumi tells him, “Walk me to my office, c’mon.”

To his surprise, Iwaizumi picks his sportsbag up for him, gesturing for him to hurry up when he falters in his steps, staring unmovingly at the sight of the AT waiting on him. He forces his feet to follow, and once they’re in the hallway and clear of other players, Iwaizumi nudges him, a signal to let him know he’s waiting for him to talk.

It flusters him, awfully so - he’s never had someone deal with him in his moods in a way that’s so direct, yet still feels non-confrontational. Osamu’s his twin, and they push each other harder than anyone else, so anything less would have resulted in a goading insult of having turned soft on each other; Sakusa had been quiet, sometimes, but even then his eyes were loud and demanding; even Shoyo and Bokuto’s warmer and obnoxious methods of comfort were nothing compared to how Iwaizumi seemed to silently encourage him to open up. It felt like he was being allowed to refuse or deny out loud if he wanted, and the AT would accept and still know what he needed.

He’s talking before he can even think twice about it. “It upsets me sometimes.”

Iwaizumi hums, steps obviously slower to give them more time to reach his office. “What does?”

“When people make fun of my sets,” he answers. “I’m not always touchy about it - if I was, I’d get my contract terminated for deckin’ a teammate. But. _But._ As a setter. It kinda hurts, sometimes.” It’s pouring out before he can stop it, a small part of him already having recognized Iwaizumi Hajime as ‘safe’ in his mind. “I’m no monster like Tobio, that’s obvious. But that’s not somethin’ I can change, so I can only make up for it by making the best sets I’m capable of for my hitters, even if it means makin’ myself look like a wannabe contortionist. It just - pisses me off when people make fun of that, sometimes, when it’s my essence as a setter.”

“If it means anything to you, I think you’re a great setter,” Iwaizumi murmurs, voice soft even against the empty air of the hallway. “And it’s admirable that you’re pushing yourself to be as efficient as Kageyama even when there are obvious disadvantages. It’s not something everyone always has the courage or dedication to do.”

Atsumu breathes. Lets the words sink in, lets his shoulders feel a little lighter. “Thanks, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Sometimes I wish I still had the heart for volleyball,” Iwaizumi says. “Maybe it would have been cool to hit one of your sets.”

Despite the kind intentions behind the words, Atsumu knows it wasn’t up for negotiation, not right now. So he lets it hang in the air, a small bubble of peace he’s found that he can breathe easily in, until they arrive at Iwaizumi’s office. He lets Atsumu change and clean up in the comfort room inside, hands him a fresh bottle of water and sits him down to place a careful salonpas on the small of his back.

“You know, yer name’s kinda a mouthful to keep sayin’,” Atsumu mumbles thoughtlessly as Iwaizumi smooths the patch securely against his skin. He’s trying his best not to moan at the relief, and at the warmth. “Ya got a nickname we can use for ya?”

He feels Iwaizumi freeze. It’s out of nowhere, the way he’s suddenly so tense even the hand against Atsumu’s back feels a tiny bit less tender. “Iwaizumi-san?” he says, turning his head a bit to glance at the AT. His face is completely unreadable before he shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he responds, eyes darting up to Atsumu’s waiting expression. “It’s nothing. Also, no, I don’t think I’ve got any nicknames for you to use. They’re all embarrassing high school shi - stuff, anyway.”

Atsumu snorts at the way he’d evaded saying shit. “Alright, Goody-two-shoes,” he announces, standing up to take his leave. “I’ll be the one to give ya a new one, then. Thanks for the help, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi smiles, but it’s somewhat a ghost of what Atsumu’s gotten used to. “I’ll look forward to it, Atsumu.”

Even as he leaves, Iwaizumi’s eyes stay on him, completely still, not unlike an echo of unreadable honey-copper eyes he'd fallen in love with in high school.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN i struggled w this chapter bc it felt like an unplanned filler and i kept running out of ideas and redoing it all over,,,plus the way i am stressing over college,,, so i am so sorry if this one is a little off ;; i'm doing my best to keep the updates and writing consistent it's just that this week was extra taxing
> 
> (honestly i dont wanna rush this fic but if i take too long with it i'll lose my focus too much and forget the stuff i have planned but didn't write in my notes app lol ;;A;)
> 
> i refuse to reread another time lest i get the urge to rewrite again so ill just hope its not as bad as i feel it is

Iwaizumi was strange, sometimes.

For the most part, Iwaizumi got along well with the entire national team, which was actually a feat Atsumu thought he deserved a Nobel Peace Prize Award for. Granted, they’re all a little more sensible than their high school selves had been, but it wasn’t like there was much of a big change. Bokuto had plucked out his strange habit of falling into moods the moment he had graduated, but it didn’t mean his entire personality of being a hyperactive ball of sunshine had gone with it. Hoshiumi was smarter around interviewers and journalists, but that didn’t mean he’s completely desensitized himself when it came to jabs about his physique, and it definitely did not do anything to make him less loud.

All in all, they were still a team of arguably dysfunctional personas - _their captain reads magazine ads as seriously as he would read a shonen manga, for fuck’s sake_ \- but if Atsumu’s noticed anything, it’s that Iwaizumi handles everyone perfectly well. He’s long used to Tobio and Shoyo’s unending energy, treating them with hearty laughs and in a tone not unlike an older brother’s, and he can hold a conversation with Ushijima better than the rest of them, save for Sakusa and Yaku, who, by the way, Atsumu has seen reach up to ruffle Iwaizumi’s hair like he does with Hyakuzawa, and Iwaizumi had only looked surprise for a second before he’d bent down to let the libero do so.

The Kamomedai graduates, who had been actual, hellsent demons even in their youth, hadn’t even phased Iwaizumi when they start getting aggressive over their _diets_ or God knows what. And while Bokuto seemed to get even more excitable talking to the AT about being both former team aces, Iwaizumi didn’t seem to mind the volume that much as he chats with the salt-and-pepper haired man.

With Atsumu, however - well. Well, firstly, he figures he had _at least_ half the blame, because he’s probably the last person left who gets so worked up talking to the AT, and probably the _only_ person who keeps tabs on the times he’d made Iwaizumi laugh one way or another, or when Iwaizumi had smiled at him first, or when Iwaizumi did literally anything that involved making his insides twist very inconveniently during a practice match. 

But it wasn’t like he let his panic get the most of him - he _knows_ he puts on his best smile around Iwaizumi, and he knows he can and has delivered suave lines around Iwaizumi before. 

The next half of the problem lies in the fact that Iwaizumi almost never seems to be affected.

"Iwaizumi-san," he’d said once, helplessly staring unabashedly this time at the trainer's arms. "Do ya go to the gym a lot?" 

Iwaizumi had snorted at him, but shrugged all the same. "I've been busier since I started here, but I keep it in my schedule." 

With great difficulty, Atsumu tore his eyes away from the biceps so he could look at Iwaizumi and show him how serious he was about this. "Ya mind if I come with sometimes? I wouldn't mind spottin' for ya either." 

Iwaizumi laughed at him then, a full laugh that had garnered the doe-eyed stares of some of the other players and had Atsumu’s insides fluttering like crazy. “You’re ridiculous, Miya,” was what Iwaizumi had said, instead of a proper reply.

“I’m being serious here!” he’d whined, and received a flick to the forehead in return. “‘Sides, it wouldn’t be a _bad_ thing to want to go to the gym, Mr. Athletic Trainer.”

Iwaizumi hummed. “I’ll think about it. Go stretch, Atsumu.” He’d nudged him towards where the other players already were, with Sakusa very obviously giving him a disgusted stare. And that had been that.

Iwaizumi never really got flustered, true to his word and much to Atsumu’s disappointment. He’d _kill_ to see a hint of a blush on that gorgeous tan of his.

Most of the time, Iwaizumi laughs and brushes him off easily. There were times, however, when he’d catch Iwaizumi staring at his side profile with a strange look on his face, looking almost like he’s completely spaced out, with his brows furrowed and mouth pursed.

Once, Atsumu had raised an eyebrow, smiling teasingly and saying, “Like what ya see?” The AT had blinked, surprised, and there was a lapse of something in his eyes - as if he really wasn’t quite there at the moment. 

_Or,_ a voice at the back of Atsumu’s head had whispered, _as if he was looking for something that wasn’t there._ He shook it off and focused on the weak laugh Iwaizumi had forced out in reply.

“If I see something I like,” he had responded, “I’ll make sure to tell you.”

 _But you do see something you like,_ Atsumu wished he could say, but by then Iwaizumi had already turned away, head shaking and the set of his shoulders tense, leaving the setter in mild confusion. 

He ignores the small pinch of dread in his stomach as he watches Iwaizumi’s back disappear, and turns all his focus back into his stretches.

Atsumu finds himself already packed up and about to leave for the day when he hears his stomach growl. Most of the team is still around to hear it, but he didn’t really care about that, because he’s certain they’ve seen him in worse situations, like when he’d slipped during the MSBY BJ fan event.

No, it was because it was right after Iwaizumi had asked him if he was hungry (which, admittedly, made his heart stutter, but _only a little_ ) and he’d said no (because he knows he eats like a pig and he wasn’t ready for Iwaizumi to see that yet), like his stomach was flat out rebelling against him. 

The AT had stared at him with flat amusement in his eyes and a knowing smile, and if only he wasn’t so handsome Atsumu would have punched him in the face. Maybe he’ll find the courage to do it one day by kissing it right off. A man can only hope.

“... Is this when ya finally ask me out for dinner?” Atsumu pipes up after a minute of staring at each other, feeling himself starting to go red. Behind him, someone lets out a choked cough. _Go fuck yerself, Motoya,_ he thinks.

Iwaizumi only gives him an exasperated shake of the head. “No,” he says flatly, and Atsumu would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart sink a bit. “There’s a konbini just across the building, though, and I feel like I could use some food before I head off, so…”

Atsumu takes what he can, and finds himself staring intensely at the rows of onigiri, thinking, _I wonder if Iwaizumi-san has tried Onigiri Miya. Not that I’m praisin’ Samu, but that stuff_ is _leagues better than convenience store onigiri. I should take him there sometime._

And - _no. Nevermind. There’s no way in hell I’m takin’ him on a date where my brother can see._

He’s in the middle of debating the cons and cons - _no pros, absolutely no good lettin’ Iwaizumi meet Samu, I’ll only get embarrassed and slandered the whole time_ \- when Iwaizumi’s voice speaks right next to him: “I’m guessing you’re taking the tuna ones?”

Atsumu is so startled he almost jumps out of his own skin. “Of course!” he answers without thinking. “I meant, yeah, I’m gettin’ one of those, I always do. My brother always said the umeboshi ones are better, but I’m willing ta bet he only says it ‘cause he knows I like tuna. Samu’s a real piece of shit - ” He looks up to see Iwaizumi snickering quietly at him, his onigiri already in hand and wallet out. 

“... Sorry,” he flushes, “didn’t mean ta rant.” _I just got nervous as if you can read my mind thinkin’ about goin’ on a date with ya in my brother’s shop and went on a rant ‘bout said brother to make myself feel less obvious._ He makes sure he doesn’t say that out loud. He doesn’t need more embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi calls, already headed to the cashier. “I almost forgot you have a twin. You don’t usually mention him.”

 _That’s ‘cause I usually forget my own name around ya,_ Atsumu almost blurts out loud. “Eh,” he says instead. “Samu ain’t a big deal. Woulda been, if he went pro with me. Imagine how cool we coulda been, ‘cept he chose his love for food over volleyball, the glutton. He runs Onigiri Miya, though, and I guess it’s pretty decent.”

Iwaizumi’s brow quirks. “Huh, I haven’t tried that place yet,” he says, pensive. “Took me quite a lot of work to get a job as you guys’ trainer, after all.”

“Guess I can take ya sometime,” Atsumu says, willfully ignoring the spark of warmth in his cheeks. Iwaizumi chuckles, fishing yen from his wallet, and Atsumu realizes - “Wait, I can pay for my food - ”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Iwaizumi cuts him off. “It’s not like it costs a fortune. Besides,” he grins at Atsumu as he pays with his money. “I’m considering the Onigiri Miya offer, so I’ll count on you to cover that if I ever take you up on it.”

The warmth in his cheeks gets ten times worse, but Atsumu can’t stop himself as his mouth uncontrollably lifts into a wide, beaming grin. “Now that sounds like a deal,” he says happily, following Iwaizumi outside. The plastic bags crinkles in his hands.

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Don’t get too excited now,” he murmurs, bowing his head to peek at the bags. He hands one to Atsumu, keeping the other to himself. “Here. Make sure you eat something proper when you get home,” he says sternly. Atsumu laughs lightly.

“Thanks, Mr. AT,” he says, peeking at the contents himself. He furrows his brows at the contents. “Ya like milk bread?” he asks. 

He remembers eating milk bread only a few times before, in his whole life. Osamu had only just taken a fresh liking to baking back then, and milk bread had been one of the things he remembers his brother making and giving as a free snack. He didn’t really like it - it was too sweet for him, a little too prickly for his throat, but he didn’t really hate it, either.

Next to him, Iwaizumi tenses a little. He coughs, clearing his throat. Atsumu glances at him confusedly. “Yeah,” the AT answers, eyes cast straight ahead of him. Unseeing. “Kind of? It’s not really my favorite, but I guess it kind of is.” His eyes flicker towards Atsumu for a second. “Sorry, uh, do you not want it…?”

“No!” Atsumu exclaims, surprising the two of them. “Sorry, uh. No, s’fine. I was just - surprised, I guess. I didn’t take ya to be a sweet tooth.” That was true - Iwaizumi really didn’t seem like someone who would be fond of sweets. _At least,_ Atsumu thinks, _that was what I thought, but apparently not_ . He glances at the milk bread nestled in the plastic again. “Should ya be givin’ be this much sugar, though?” he asks, trying to lift the weird air that had settled around them. _I don’t hate milk bread,_ he thinks, _but I will if it makes things awkward between me and Iwaizumi-san._

“If you don’t say anything, I won’t,” Iwaizumi replies. He’s still not looking at Atsumu, but there’s a smile on his lips now, albeit a little strained. Atsumu will take it, anyway, because it’s better than before. “II’ll be going ahead.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he murmurs, gripping the plastic bag tighter as he waves goodbye to the AT, who walks ahead, sparing Atsumu a quick look back and a small wave before he completely turns his back on him.

Atsumu makes quick work of the onigiri before he leaves, but he leaves the milk bread in the bag. Glancing down at it as he walks, he wonders absently if the trip to the konbini was less of a blessing than he’d hoped it was going to be, being alone time with Iwaizumi and all.

When Atsumu gets home, he leaves dinner heating in the microwave as he collapses into his couch, stretching his tired muscles languidly and groaning as his joints pop. God, he was tired.

He glances at the milk bread, placed carefully on top of where he’d carelessly dumped his own sportsbag on the couch. He debates whether or not he should eat it now, but he figures it would do as dessert. _It’s certainly sweet enough_ , he thinks to himself, and then remembers Iwaizumi’s weird…. weirdness at the store.

 _Stop,_ he tells himself, _stop thinkin’ ‘bout it. It’s not gonna help._ It stays in his head hauntingly.

Reaching for his phone, he punches in _Aoba Johsai Miyagi prefecturals_ and shifts to the _Videos_ results page of his browser. He figures he can get distracted easily enough with these, and help him shake his mind off of thinking about earlier. 

It does end up getting his mind off of the konbini issue, but it gives him a fresh new set of troubling thoughts to deal with in its stead, because Atsumu learns three new things that night.

The first of those three things is the fact that Iwaizumi looks way too good in his high school jersey than what should be deemed appropriate and fair by the rules of the sport. It’s easy to discern the AT with his warm-toned skin and wildly spiked hair, the #4 on his jersey a proud, pretty shade of teal, the sleeves clinging to his shoulders nicely, and he wonders how people never got distracted during matches against Aoba Johsai, because _Christ he looks that good on crappy camera footage, what’s it like up close?_

Atsumu wonders if he would have gotten distracted by that, had Aoba Johsai ever gotten the chance to go to Nationals like they so badly wanted. He hopes not. He’s more than confident in his skills and concentration as a setter, but as someone weak for Iwaizumi Hajime’s charms and attractiveness - added to the fact that he was a little impressionable as a high school kid - well.

Secondly, Oikawa Tooru, he begrudgingly admits to himself, is an amazing setter.

When he’d started his little Internet hunt for old footage on Seijoh’s matches, it hadn’t been very difficult to find the ones from the years Iwaizumi and Oikawa had played, because all of them had suspiciously higher numbers of views and likes boasting over the ones from other school years. The comments were filled with ages old comments from who were probably high school girls fawning over the setter, and while Atsumu doesn’t want to admit it, he does understand where Ushijima had been coming from when he found out the southpaw wanted Oikawa to set for him.

Oikawa sets beautifully, unique to each spiker like it should be, and he remains immaculately elegant in the way he moves around the court despite the sweat sticking to and dripping down his arms. He doesn’t stand as outwardly arrogant and brazen as Atsumu knows he used to in high school tournaments, but he can tell there’s an air of confidence around Oikawa as he smiles down at the opposing team that sends them into a terrified frenzy.

As he multitasks his meal and watching the old videos, he vaguely notes the differently colored kneepads that wrap around Oikawa’s legs - one white, and one black. He doesn’t get the point, and it doesn’t really stick to his mind for long, but his eyes do stray distractedly to them at times, catching onto the mismatched blur of colors on the setter’s knees.

The last thing is what eats away at him the most - Oikawa and Iwaizumi are more than a hundred percent synchronized on the court, moving complementary to each other at all times. Oikawa barely opens his mouth to signal when he tosses to Iwaizumi - he sets and Iwaizumi is there to follow up on the attack. It rivals the freak duo, and even him and his own twin - they’re practically linked to each other, a complete trust that the other will be at their side at all times.

Iwaizumi’s voice says in his head: _I don’t think I can anymore. I wish I still had the heart for volleyball._

 _Why?_ Atsumu wants to ask his phone screen, but that would be kind of stupid, and it embarasses him to think of doing it even without anyone around. He rips open the packaging of the milk bread at some point, biting into the sickeningly sweet treat. _Why won’t you play anymore?_

He wonders if it’s because Iwaizumi had only ever played for Oikawa’s sake - maybe it had only been Oikawa who was actually invested - he _did_ , after all, move to Argentina for it, though the reasons remain unknown for Atsumu - and maybe Iwaizumi had only been there as his best friend, following him around and making sure he wasn’t lonely trying to reach for his goals.

 _That’s what best friends do, right?_ He wasn’t sure. He _wanted_ to be sure.

As he pops the pieces of bread into his mouth, eyes trained completely on his screen as he watches a smooth, synced quick from the two of them in a match against a team they’re leading 21-9 against, he thinks, _why won’t you give me a chance to set for you?_

The milk bread is heavy and cloying on his tongue, and he feels vaguely queasy as he chews the last of it, swallowing with great difficulty as the bread seems to stick to his throat. He grimaces, reaching for a glass of water. _Iwaizumi, I like you, but please never get me milk bread again. I like you too much not to eat it, honestly, but it’s too sweet._

Atsumu sucks in a tight breath through gritted teeth. The sugar makes him feel sick, and it leaves a strange sensation not unlike the one he got from seeing Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s flawless partnership.

By the time he tucks himself in bed that night, he still can’t stop thinking of how it would have felt to have been in Oikawa’s place back in Aoba Johsai’s games. It stays a dream, like most whimsical things do, but that doesn’t mean he stops _wanting_.

  
  


Atsumu wishes so badly he had a more exciting and more interesting schedule for the weekend. He wished he had a date to prepare for, pick an outfit for, and get all dumb and excited over. Hell, he wished he had a date with Iwaizumi now, even if it would have to be at Onigiri Miya, because at least then he’d be able to spend time with him, his own pride and honor be damned.

(He actually briefly considers taking up Iwaizumi’s offer then and there, but he doesn’t even have the trainer’s number, _goddamnit_ , and he spends a full five minutes screeching into his pillow when he realizes this piece of information.)

But _nooo_ . Instead, he finds himself headed to Onigiri Miya. Alone. Totally dateless. _Like my loser brother_ , he wishes he could say, except he can’t, because Osamu actually has a boyfriend, a proper seven years old relationship, and he can’t even get Iwaizumi to tell him what gym he goes to.

The shop is filled with the fresh scent of rice, and with the morning air lingering in his nose, it makes Atsumu almost nostalgic, completed by the flat look Osamu sends his way when he saunters his way inside.

“Ugh, it’s you,” Osamu says, like, _oh joy_ , “If ya plan on eating anythin’ I made today, ya better be payin’ for it.”

Atsumu scowls. “Is that the way to greet yer beloved twin good mornin’?” he complains, heading straight for the counter where his brother stands, arms crossed over his chest and poker face immaculate underneath the Onigiri Miya cap. He feels himself slipping into Kansai-ben more carelessly, too, not worried about people not understanding him through the dialect now. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, too.”

Osamu scoffs. “And I woulda liked ta keep it that way, too,” he replies, “but we can’t always get what we want.”

“Rude,” Atsumu sniffles. Osamu only rolls his eyes. “Sunarin comin’ over?”

“Not until tonight,” Osamu says, and Atsumu mutters _fuckin’ gross_ under his breath. “Ya literally asked, moron. Keep that up and yer not gettinʼ outta here alive. Besides,” Osamu’s eyes flash with a ruthlessness he only gets when he knows he’s got something he can hold over his twin. “I heard _you’ve_ been makin’ heart eyes at the new AT or somethinʼ, so ya don’t get a say in my relationship, asshole.”

Atsumu groans. “Fuck you, I’m not even gonna ask who ya got it from.” A moment. “It was Komori an’ yer boyfriend, wasn’t it.” It’s not a question. Osamu only stares at him with a small twitch of a smirk. “You're all horrible.”

“Ain't that rich cominʼ from you?” Osamuʼs brow rises, unimpressed. “ʼSides, you know you shouldʼve expected it.” 

“Donʼt remind me,” Atsumu sighs. “Canʼt believe Sunarinʼs still collectinʼ blackmail material on me ʼtil now.” 

“Ya best believe it. Whoʼs the unlucky guy, anyway?”

Atsumu feels his face crumple into a lour. “What’s the point, ya probably already know, dont’cha?”

“God, when I say I’ll never miss having yer whinin’ ass in my store - ”

“Oh, shut yer ugly ass mug up, Samu, ya think I miss dealin’ with you daily?”

“My mug is yer mug, guess what that makes you?” Osamu _tsks_ , sliding a fresh plate of onigiri in front of his twin, effectively silencing whatever insults Atsumu had in mind as he opts to drool over the snack. “Shut yer trap before I take it back.”

There’s a momentary truce that hangs peacefully in the air as Atsumu inhales his onigiri, Osamu watching him with unconcealed disgust before he turns around to talk to one of his employees. By the time he’s sliding into the seat one away from his brother’s, the plate’s empty.

“That’s double the price for you, ya pig,” Osamu tells him once he’s settled. Atsumu promptly goes on a choking fit.

“I’m yer twin!” 

“Triple, then.”

Atsumu glowers. Osamu only gives him a self-satisfied look. “So tell me ‘bout yer AT. S’been a while since I had to deal with ya bein’ a disaster, so color me curious.”

Atsumu pouts - he can’t deny the fact that Osamu bears witness to most of his griping, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. _God, what was the point of givin’ me a twin if you were goin’ ta make him the biggest asshole in my life…_

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he grumbles sulkily. “That’s his name. Apparently he and Ushiwaka were California buddies, and the Miyagi folks on the team all have this weird senpai crush on him an’ his high school setter from Aoba Johsai.”

Osamu fixes him with a flat look. “They’re senpai crushin’ on ‘im, _you’re_ thirstin’ for his dick. Ya don’t get to judge.”

“Yer a complete bitch and comin’ here was the worst idea.”

Osamu snorts. “Didn’t know ya had it in ya to get ideas. Also, if I’m a bitch, what does that make _you_?” He taps a thoughtful finger to his chin. “What’s he like?”

“Hot,” Atsumu says without much thought. _What, it’s true._ “Kinda short, but he’s _built_ , ya know? Nice arms.”

“When I said you were thirstin’ after the man - ”

“ _And he’s nice!_ ” Atsumu half-yells. A customer about to leave looks back to shoot him a strange look, but he doesn’t really care about the extras in his life. “He gets all gentle when we need his help, but ya wouldn’t expect it from how gruff he is, ya know? He actually gets along well with everyone, and that’s with Ushiwaka and, I dunno, _Hoshiumi_ on the team. Omi-kun doesn’t even hate him!” A pause. “Knew how ta handle me in a bad mood, too. And he likes sweets, I think, which was unexpected, but cute,” he adds, remembering the loaves of milk bread Iwaizumi had bought just the other night.

Osamu stares. And stares. He takes his time as he drinks from a glass of water Atsumu didn’t notice he had, having been forced into silent wariness as he waits for his brother’s response.

And then Osamu says, “Tsumu. Yer a fuckin’ disaster.”

“I’m not!” And then, upon a quick introspection - “ _Well._ He told me if I wanted ta fluster ‘im I had to try harder, but it’s so hard when he’s so pretty and intimidating!”

“God,” Osamu mumbles, “Let the whole world know I’m a damn saint for dealin’ with yer ass for almost three decades now.”

“S’not my fault! He just seems so - ” Atsumu flails his arms, fingers clenching around air. “S’like he’s too cool for me!”

Osamu makes a face. “So? Didn’t stop ya from confessing to Kita-san back when he was in his third year, and you were even lamer back then. Even if yer ass did get rejected,” he adds, like Atsumu’s terrible, terrible heartache was all just a joke to him. “And it never did, so what’s stoppin’ ya now?”

Atsumu falls silent. _What_ was _it?_ Other than getting himself flustered, there wasn’t really anything else to stop him, and it wasn’t like he was trying to keep it a secret with how obvious he’d been, so…

“I dunno,” he grouses. “It’s just - it feels like there’s too much I wanna know about him.” Unwittingly, he realizes he hasn’t even asked nor wondered much about why Iwaizumi had gone to study sports medicine and become an athletic trainer instead of going pro like he could have, why he no longer _had the heart to play volleyball._ He wants to unravel Iwaizumi, wants to have him deconstructed and undone by his own hands until there’s nothing more to find. His hunger demands for it. “There’s too much I don’t know yet.”

And Osamu knows that when he tells Atsumu, “So do it. Go find out.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?” He doesn’t want it to not go well, but it had happened once, long ago, and there’s always half the chance it can happen again.

Osamu’s sigh fills the room, exhaustion and promise all the same. “Then we’ll find out the next time ya drag yer sorry ass to Onigiri Miya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey HEY uhhh quick question !! if it were up to u........ what ship would u want for the endgame..... im curious bc there are people commenting ab how they're hardcore into iwaoi but are also interested in this impulse write of a fic so........ hypothetically...... which one???? ;]


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while sorry ,, been hectic lately and i'm a mess and it shows ;; this one's a little shorter bc i got stuck at some point, and also partly bc i got distracted by another prompt that i have no business thinking about so much when this ones still ongoing  
> sorry if it takes me a while to be able to reply since i've been occupied lately but pls know all i read and appreciate all your comments; i'm honestly amazed at the feedback ;; i didn't really expect to even get much so it made me glad!!  
> i'll try not to spend two weeks putting the next ch off and hopefully get out of this shit slump; thanks always for reading! hope u all have a gr8 week ahead

Atsumu isn’t the most pleasant person to be around.

There, he said it - he’s a dick, prancing obnoxiously on the line between being barely tolerable and being insufferable on a daily basis. He knows he spends every breathing moment in between sleep and volleyball traipsing and teasing and poking, and not just at anyone - he does it with the guests at a monster’s banquet, the concoction of sunshine and idiots that comprise their national team.

He knows this, and he doesn’t care. From the moment he’d first let his mouth spew condescending words towards his elementary teammates who couldn’t even hit his set ( _it was well deserved_ , he still thinks) and Osamu had told him over a meal that year how everyone hated him, he had shrugged it off, because, well, _what did it matter?_

It didn’t. It didn’t matter then, because Atsumu had been the core of his team, and without him, they can’t win. A couple of snot-nosed brats who can’t even play well not liking him never changed the fact that he was still their next player along with Osamu. In the end, it was still him who’d gone to Youth Camp, it was still him with a team that went to Nationals annually, and it was still him, the Miya Atsumu who’d call you shitty if you can’t hit his tosses, who got scouted for a Divison 1 team and made it onto the Olympics lineup, where he has players who can hit his tosses with no problem.

Up until now, Atsumu has never been careful about being too blunt, or too mean, or too loud. Hell, he smiles in the face of their irritation, gleeful as he collects their pinched expressions in his mind, and playful when they’re the ones to throw insults back for him to catch, and he’s never cared about their permissions when he gives them their nicknames - all chosen specifically to sound disgustingly cute, a term of endearment turned annoyance whenever it comes from him.

But with Iwaizumi, he can’t help but _not_ be careless. He’s as playful as he always tends to be when he bounds over to the trainer, but he can’t seem to brush off the self consciousness that clouds him anyway, helpless as he reigns in the heart that tumbles and trips in his chest when Iwaizumi knocks a fist lightly against his shoulder with a laugh that he can’t help but follow with a giggle of his own that sounds too squeaky and too obvious against his own ears.

And where _Yakkun_ and _Shoyo-kun_ and _Omi-omi_ had effortlessly slid off of his tongue in singsong syllables meant to tease his other teammates slash - _dare he say it_ \- friends, the _Iwa-kun_ stays stuck on the roof of his mouth, cloyingly sweet and heavy like sugar on his tongue. 

( _Hajime-kun_ stays even farther down and away, because Atsumu doesn’t know if he’s anywhere near close enough to play with Iwaizumi’s given name. He wants to earn it, to hear Iwaizumi himself give him permission.)

It didn’t matter with the rest. It didn’t matter when his teammates avoided him outside of practice. It didn’t matter when Yaku had narrowed his eyes chillingly at his nickname and the short jokes.

If he’d met Iwaizumi earlier - in high school, maybe, or even in the league - if he’d met Iwaizumi earlier, Atsumu tells himself, maybe it would have been all the same with him and the setter wouldn’t have cared at all if Iwaizumi didn’t tolerate his attitude or if he didn’t like his tosses or his nicknames. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, because back then Atsumu was a teenage boy with only one thing on his mind, and even if Kita didn’t exist and he had liked Iwaizumi back then it wouldn’t have felt as important as it did now.

But that was a _what if,_ a _would have been if_ , and even if those things existed, they were moments long past. He didn’t care about them. What he cared about was the _now,_ and that meant being on the Olympic team and knowing its athletic trainer, who Atsumu can’t help but like so much.

 _It matters,_ Atsumu tells himself, _because ya don’t want Iwaizumi-san to find ya tolerable._ He doesn’t want Iwaizumi to hold a quiet grudge because Atsumu’s inherently unable to speak without looking down on others, and he doesn’t want him to sigh and concede to the Iwa-kun resting on the tip of his tongue.

No, he wants Iwaizumi to like him back. He wants to have his laughter instead of his resentment, wants him to smile at the sound of his nicknames, wants Iwaizumi to meet his eyes head-on because he’s an equal who Atsumu is far, far away from looking down on, and he can’t have any of that if Iwaizumi’s only ever tolerating him.

 _Don’t do anything you’ll regret,_ Sakusa had said. It echoes in his mind, bouncing off of the walls of his skull when he finds himself bounding up to Iwaizumi the moment they finish their drills, buried quickly by how he can’t help but think about how easy it is, seeing the quirk of Iwaizumi’s eyebrow, the mirth that traces his mouth as he watches Atsumu scurry over like an excited puppy, _it’s so easy to grow infatuated with him_. 

And then he opens his mouth and says, “Iwa-kun!”

It’s careless. It tumbles out of his mouth in a brief blip between his thoughts and his already flimsy self control. It comes out in a spur of the moment thing, and Atsumu expects the surprise that paints over Iwaizumi’s features. He expects the trainer to look at him with questioning eyes, maybe to ask him something like ‘ _what did you just call me?_ ’, or even say ‘ _really? Iwa-kun?_ ’ because, yeah, he was making pretty good progress with getting close to Iwaizumi, in his humble opinion, but maybe - maybe it would have been too out of the blue.

But he doesn’t expect the way Iwaizumi freezes where he is, tense even as Atsumu closes the distance. He doesn’t expect the way the AT’s eyes fill with something deeply terrified as they stay stuck on the approaching setter, nor did he expect to look at Iwaizumi’s hand and see it gripping a pen so hard his knuckles were straining from deep tan to white.

“Iwa?” Atsumu calls, stopping just feet away from Iwaizumi. His heart drops into his stomach at the painful lack of a verbal response. _Was that one too much? Over the line?_ “Iwaizumi-san,” he repeats, and even though the formality tastes bitter now, it’s cold enough to get Iwaizumi blinking out of his stupor, “are you alright?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes stay on him, searching all over his face like he’s unsure of who Atsumu is, before he takes a long, painstaking breath and shakes his head. “Atsumu,” he says, voice dragging the syllables out warily, like he’s trying the name out for the first time even though he’s been using it for at least a month now. “Atsumu. Yeah. I'm fine.”

 _Ya sure don’t seem like it_ , Atsumu wants to tell him, eyes narrowing at the flecks of panic that remain in Iwaziumi’s blown-out eyes, the same agitation that seems to close around his throat as he remains absolutely fucking clueless about what he just saw.

He’s opening his mouth - maybe to apologize for coining the nickname without permission, maybe to demand what the hell happened, he isn’t sure yet. He’s opening his mouth to talk without thinking once again even though he really probably shouldn’t, and there’s a distant voice in his head saying _if ya fuck this up even worse it’s on you,_ but then -

“... What did you call me?” Iwaizumi asks, and _dear Lord_ Atsumu’s afraid he might break that damned pen. 

Atsumu hesitates. “Iwa-kun?” he answers, though it feels more like he’s a child asking permission for a show he won’t be allowed to see until after a few more years. “Is it - it’s - remember when I told ya ‘Iwaizumi-san’ was too much of a mouthful and I’d figure out a nickname?” is what he settles for after stumbling over _is it a bad thing do ya not want me ta use it_ and _it’s a slip of the tongue don’t worry I wasn’t really plannin’ on usin’ it_.

“Oh.” Iwaizumi’s still tense where he stands, an arm’s length away from Atsumu. He’s still looking at Atsumu with a wary, faraway gaze. He’s still talking in a measured drawl, and if Atsumu knew better he would say it was so that his voice wouldn’t shake, because his hand may have loosened its grip but there’s a tautness to his whole posture, still. 

_Still, still, still._

If he’d known how a wistful thought set stray by his loose tongue would have resulted in Iwaizumi reacting like this, he would have happily let Sakusa fulfill his long-running dream of taping his mouth shut beforehand.

“S’it weird?” he continues rambling, unthinking as he keeps running his mouth as his own panic knots tightly in his chest, because _fuck fuck did I just make him uncomfortable is he angry what am I doin’ anymore_ . “Actually, Iwa-kun sounds a li’l short, but it’s how I usually roll, but if ya prefer gettin’ called Iwa- _chan_ I can make an excep - Iwaizumi…?”

It’s apparently the _worst_ thing there is to do. Iwaizumi flinches, _physically_ flinches, right in front of his eyes the moment he seems to register the name _Iwa-chan._ It almost feels like a slowed down, frame by frame display of how Atsumu finally wrenches a reaction out of the trainer, just that it’s all gone so wrong.

Atsumu’s throat closes up, an awful cocktail of trepidation churning in his stomach. Even if he found the strength to speak in that moment, he probably wouldn’t have, if only in fear of making everything worse that it already is. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut as he watches Iwaizumi’s brows knit in the middle of his forehead, eyes closed and head tipped as he takes a deep breath. 

“... Sorry.” Iwaizumi’s eyes are on the ceiling, and Atsumu watches the bob of his throat as he swallows in an attempt to shake off the dry rasp in his voice. “Leave some dignity for me and stick with Iwa-kun, will you?”

The laugh that Iwaizumi forces out is weak and hollow, and Atsumu never wants to hear it again. He curses himself for having been the one to pull it out of him in the first place.

“Alright, Iwa-kun,” he says slowly, testing the name out for the second time over. Iwaizumi takes one last deep breath before he turns his face back downwards, eyes dragging over to Atsumu carefully, and he almost stops breathing at the glossy sheen over the green of his irises. _Holy fuck._ “... That better?”

“Much better than the other one, yeah,” the trainer croaks out. “When I told you all my nicknames were embarrassing high school stuff, I didn’t think you’d think of one on that caliber, too.”

Atsumu laughs nervously. “I hafta try harder to surpass their level, then,” he tries jokingly, hands unclenching from fists he didn’t even notice them curling into in the first place. “Be thankful I ain’t callin’ ya _Iwa-iwa_ or somethin’ like that.”

Iwaizumi’s lips press into a faint trace of his usual smile. He doesn’t reply, and they lapse into what Atsumu thinks is the first bout of awkward silence between the two of them, for the first time since he’s gotten to know Iwaizumi.

 _Say somethin’_ , he thinks to himself, eyes watching Ushijima stare at a volleyball at his feet from across the court as he stands, shifting uncomfortably in his problematic spot next to Iwaizumi. _Actually, don’t do that, ya goddamn dimwit, yer gonna make it worse again._

Atsumu opens his mouth to say something hopefully sensible - an apology, maybe? - and he’s barely amassing his courage when Tobio pops up in front of them and loudly interjects, “Iwaizumi-san!” as he folds over in a perfectly-angled, almost painful bow.

Atsumu thinks, _thank fuck for Tobio-kun_ , because this is decidedly the one time he doesn’t want to be around Iwaizumi. He won’t admit it out loud, but he has no idea how to handle it any longer. _Fuck,_ he was going to apologize - for _what_ ? He wasn’t even sure what he _did_ , just that it triggered Iwaizumi into withdrawing, in a way.

Iwaizumi’s shoulder brushes against his briefly when he turns towards Tobio, and despite everything it still manages to send an embarrassing wave of heat through him, knees almost buckling. He wants to collapse - _he's fragile goddamnit_ _._ “Kageyama,” he hears Iwaizumi greet, voice much better than it was with him. “Anything wrong?”

Atsumu watches Tobio hold up his hand and Iwaizumi reach out with examining hands, blood rushing in his ears as the weight of their situation just minutes ago crashes onto him once again. 

“... should be fine as long as you don’t overexert yourself,” Iwaizumi’s saying, fingers prodding along Tobio’s knuckles. “Ice it again later, but I’ll tape you up for the meanwhile.”

Tobio nods. When they turn to leave, Iwaizumi looks at him, but avoids his eyes. “Take over as setter for a while,” Iwaizumi says, lips tight in what barely passes for a smile. “I’ll handle Kageyama for now.”

Atsumu nods, grinning though it feels painful on his face. “Alright, Iwa-kun!” he says, slipping back into a lighter tone. He doesn’t miss the way Tobio whips towards him at the nickname, though they’re already walking along, so he takes the chance to grin tauntingly while his eyes are still on him. “Careful, Tobio-kun! Don’t want me stealin’ yer spotlight with Shoyo.”

Tobio doesn’t say anything, only narrows his eyes before he finally looks away to let Atsumu get his shit back together in relative peace and solitude. 

It’s not until they’re about to leave that Tobio corners him in the lockers.

“Atsumu-san.”

 _Good gods._ Atsumu hisses as he turns to face the other setter, forehead crumpling. “Tobio-kun,” he says, saccharine. “It ain’t nice ta sneak up on people like that.”

Tobio’s face is impassive, blue eyes staring right into his own. “Sorry, Atsumu-san,” he says, ever so plainly. 

“So?” Atsumu prompts, crossing his arms. “What’re ya holdin’ me up in here for?” he asks, gesturing to the now-emptied room.

Tobio’s wearing a slight frown, one that Atsumu mirrors with a raise of his brow, as if to hurry the younger on. Tobio huffs, a sigh that would have been awfully rude had Atsumu not known how truly socially stunted he could be. 

“I heard you,” Tobio begins, brows twitching downwards as his mouth curls, “call Iwaizumi-san a nickname.”

Atsumu tilts his head, unsure of how he should respond. “I did. D’ya have anythin’ against nicknames, Tobio-kun?”

Tobio blinks down at him. “Not at all. It’s just…” He trails off, clicking his tongue as he gathers his words, and Atsumu is all but ready to make a big deal of how he could well be on his way home when he continues: “It just sounded familiar.”

Atsumu’s incoming tirade halts halfway in his head. “Familiar?” he echoes. “Did’ja know anyone who used to call him Iwa-kun, too?”

A shake of the head. “Not Iwa-kun,” comes the answer, and Atsumu’s mind manages to painstakingly recall _Iwa-chan_ in the mere seconds between Tobio’s words, “but someone did call him Iwa-chan."

Atsumu leans into the other’s space, not caring how Tobio squirms just the slightest bit. “Tell me about it, won’t ya?” He’s smiling all sickeningly, his thoughts swimming in his head. _He doesn’t want ya to call him Iwa-chan. Why? Someone calls him Iwa-chan. Someone else. Who is it?_ A flash of bright, dainty teal, Mikasa balls against pale fingers viewed through a grainy recording. _Who else could it be?_

“It’s Oikawa-san’s name for him,” Tobio tells him, eyes shifting to the sides, the strength in his voice wavering into a mumble. “And they’re… they’re _them_ , so I was just - surprised that he let you call him something so close to it.”

Atsumu straightens back up, inhaling sharply through his nose. _Of course. Who else could it have been._ “Surprised, ain'tcha,” he grinds out. _Oikawa. Always Oikawa._ “Suppose I am, too.”

Deep blue eyes dart back to his face, eerie and blank. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Tobio says. Atsumu sees a flash of red on his fingers, and Iwaizumi’s gently nimble hands come into mind. _They’re_ them, he thinks bitterly, _childhood friends and in full sync and coordinated and Iwaizumi won’t even consider spiking a toss from me_ \- “Iwaizumi-san’s far from hating Oikawa-san, so if he lets you too, then... then he must...”

Atsumu almost barks out a laugh. Tobio never really gets the whole picture, for most of the time, but this is his first time being so thoroughly annoyed with his density. “‘Course not,” he bites out. _Why ‘m I mad?_ “S’just not really nice when someone I like correlates me to their _friend_.” It’s not the whole thing, but - it’s enough. It’s not like he’d want to go to Kageyama Tobio, of all people, if he was having problems with his love life and needed to vent. Plus he’s pretty sure Tobio looks up to Oikawa, so to spiel about the Argentinian setter in front of him wasn’t a good idea, either.

Tobio’s eyes widen. “You like Iwaizumi-san?”

Atsumu stares at him, dumbfounded. This time, he can’t help the chortle that comes out. “Are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me, Tobio-kun?” he wheezes, pressing a finger to his temple. He should’ve known Tobio wouldn’t have noticed at all. “I’ve been hangin’ ‘round him since he got here. Pretty sure everyone's noticed that at least.”

“I… didn’t,” Tobio admits lowly, ears red. Leave it to him to be completely immersed in volleyball and oblivious to the rest of his team; funnily enough, it’s what lessens the great amount of irritation that had formed in Atsumu since the other approached him in the first place.

“If Shoyo was here, he’d be lordin’ this all over ya now, Bakageyama-kun,” Atsumu croons. The red dilutes from his tears towards his cheeks. 

“Please shut up, Atsumu-san,” Tobio says, huffing again. He shifts from one foot to another, avoidant of making eye contact with Atsumu, who dons an amused smirk on his face now. “I should go. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

Atsumu sighs, waving one hand dismissively as the other grips his bag strap. “It’s whatever. See ya, Tobio-kun.”

Tobio nods, stepping away. He’s started to head for the door already when he pauses and adds, “If I’m right, you’d probably fit Iwaizumi-san’s type. If that’s any consolation.” He glimpses at Atsumu’s figure, the way his eyes have widened incredulously at his words, and, because he’s Tobio, shrugs it off. The audacity.

“Goodnight, Atsumu-san.”


End file.
